Smoke like mist
by Keith Koenar
Summary: He couldn't say he liked her. No one really did. She was bratty, pushy and insensitive, and smoked like a chimney. OC/Marcel


_A short story for all out there thinking like me it was odd that no Marcel fanfic was up, well, tada! Surprise surprise! -this is probably a one-shot, considering it has no solid plot, maybe I will continue on request... I would like a review of some kind to classify my writing and all, that would be really, really nice. Otherwise, enjoy, right?_

* * *

><p>He couldn't say he liked her. No one really did. She was bratty, pushy and insensitive, and smoked like a chimney. The moment she stept through a door, the room would go cold, her always present thugs right behind her, and the smell of smoke would invade the air, sickening, cancerous. She didn't even try to cover up the smell, it had become a part of her. When he would look around, he would see how every person in the room, every man in the room wanted to retch at her sight, run away or simply hit her in her tan face for being who she was.<p>

Because she was and would always stay _the _one and only Baroness of Rio. She caused misery, hurt and even murder. Like her father and the father of her father had before, she lay over the city, like a curse, nevertheless what kept the urban blood pumping. Pumping for _more._

This time, her odor reached his nose before the ratlly door slammed open, revealing her in her full pride. Her chest puffed up, framed by a leopard fur coat, she stood in the doorframe, ebony eyes narrowing at the bar's visitors. Behind her shadowed two tall bodyguards, resembling two wide wardrobes, pure muscle-power successfuly fueled into two-hundred pounds of flesh.

Next to them she should have looked miserable, but she was a mighty goddess amongst men, surrounded by mist._ A real, pureblood brazillian woman._

She blew smoke through her nose and turned it up in disdain, "I'm back motherfuckers."

The high heels of her black pumps clicked on the dusty ground when she stalked over to the bar, right past Marcel, men in black always close behind. He could have said he wasn't surprised of the force her hand hit the counter with, yet truth said: he was. Immediatly three neon green shots appeared and she emptied all three without hesitation, whirling around and hurling the last across the whole room. The glass shattered into a million shards against the wall.

"I SAID I'M BACK MOTHERFUCKERS! THAT MEANS CÂNDIDA FOR ALL!"

The whole room cheered. She was in a good mood today. Either that, or she was already drunk.

Six bottles of liquor were slammed onto the counter, along with glasses, all grabbed away by the waitresses to be distributed to the awaiting clients. The Baroness fished a stack of money out of her generous cleavage and flipped through it to pull about a third of it out, throwing it into the barmans general direction. In a matter of seconds, she lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. Her hand shot out into the cloud of flying banknotes and pulled out a baffled bartender by his collar.

"You know what I want." she hissed into his face, he could only nod feverishly.

While the man fumbled underneath the counter, Marcel took a good look at her. In the warm light of the location, her exposed skin caramelised and the gloss on her full lips shone bright. Fake or not, they were desirable. When she reached for the bottle blindly and popped it open, he couldn't help but smirk. Her head fell back as she took a swig of the premium Cândida, revealing her smooth neck. Smooth but for one purplish hickey at its side. Unvoluntary, he gave a sound of satisfaction.

Ripping his eyes away, Marcel emptied his beer and slammed it back. It was his move of standing up that caught her attention, and she waisted no time trap her glowing cancer-stick between her lips, throwing the rest-bundle of money to the closest bodyguard with her freed hand.

"No you have it ya' don't need me." she muttered, cigarette sticking to her gloss.

Bottle in hand, heels clicking, smile on her lips, she followed Marcel on his way out of the bar. Unlike himself, he grinned from one ear to another when her smoky scent enveloped him. That warm, unresistible scent of the Baroness, of a woman meant to be powerful until her very end.

He couldn't say he liked her. No, surely not. Because he loved her.


End file.
